


Brown Paper Packages Tied Up With Strings

by predilection



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-12
Updated: 2013-10-12
Packaged: 2017-12-29 05:51:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,191
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1001755
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/predilection/pseuds/predilection
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve doesn't ask for much, but when he discovers that something that belonged to his mother is up for auction, he wants it back.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Brown Paper Packages Tied Up With Strings

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first Avengers fic. It came into existence because I wanted to write an ensemble piece revolving around Steve. It's unbetaed, so any mistakes are my own.
> 
> The title comes from "The Sound of Music".

Steve stared at the headline in disbelief.

Steve's family had never had much, and what little he had left after his mother passed away had gone towards funeral expenses and keeping Steve fed. After the Super Soldier Serum, most of his day-to-day needs and belongings had been supplied by the USO. The handful of items that he could call his own -- a notebook, a compass and a few changes of clothing -- he had easily fit in a single backpack, his only baggage when he had boarded the plane to Europe.

He hadn't thought that there were any items he had left behind that had survived the 68 years he'd been in the ice, and even if something had, he had been sure there was nothing of his he would have wanted back.

Steve blinked. The headline hadn't changed since it caught his attention. He read it again: "Rare belongings of Steve Rogers to go to auction".

People were buying and selling his stuff. A year had passed since he found himself in the future, but he still wasn't used to the hero worship. Sure, he had gotten plenty of attention and admiration during his time as a dancing monkey, but now it was coming from respectful and reverent adults rather than small children and the war effort-focused press.

Steve skimmed the article and despite knowing the answer, couldn't help himself from wondering why anyone would want his old shirts anyway. 

The article continued deep in the arts section and Steve debated reading something else before curiosity got the better of him. He flipped to the correct page and promptly dropped the paper.

It landed on the table, open, the image accompanying the article facing him. Steve couldn't look away. What he was seeing wasn't possible.

There on the page was a photograph of his mother's wedding ring.

The same ring she had sold, even when she had cherished it so much, when Steve was fifteen years old to pay for his medical bills. 

She had rarely taken it off before then. The first time Steve can recall her removing it, he was eight years old. Somehow, Steve had gotten a hold of the ring when his mother wasn't looking and had carefully painted a heart on the inside of it. There had been two small groves on the interior of the ring that Steve had thought looked like a heart and he had wanted her to be able to see it too. She had adored the addition, and in the years that followed, she asked Steve to repaint the heart over and over again. 

Steve remembered the way she used to slip the ring off her finger and carefully hand it to him, the grace in her movements. He remembered the way she always kissed him on the forehead when he had returned it to her, smiling down at him, her pride in Steve only outshone by her love for him.

Steve thought the ring was lost years before the serum. The article, which predicted it would fetch up to fifty thousand dollars in auction, thought otherwise.

*

Steve found Bruce hunched over a table in the study. It looked to Steve like he was trying to compare information in a book with data on a tablet. He seemed deep in thought. Steve was ready to leave him to his work until Bruce glanced his way, noticed him, and put the tablet he'd been holding down onto the mahogany tabletop.

Bruce stared at Steve for a moment and Steve felt, as he often did around Bruce, like he was being examined but not judged. Bruce leaned back in his chair and gestured to the empty seat across from him. "Care to join me?"

Steve crossed the room and sat, the arts section held tightly in one hand. Bruce raised an inquiring eyebrow in its direction, and Steve told him about the auction and the ring. He didn't go into detail about all the reasons why it was so important to him -- the last person who he had talked to about his mother had been Bucky -- but Bruce seemed to understand regardless.

Bruce took the paper from him. A few minutes later, he handed it back to Steve and sighed. "It shouldn't even be up for sale. Your stuff should be returned to you, not sold to the highest bidder."

Steve didn't particularly care if people wanted his old boots. He just wanted the ring. "What can I do?" Steve asked.

"I'm not sure. Talk to the auction house and maybe whoever's selling it. Or you could always ask SHIELD to acquire it for you. They'll probably even pay for it if you asked them nicely."

"It's expected to go for _fifty thousand dollars_ ," Steve pointed out, the words sounding ridiculous on his tongue. He loved the ring, but he knew that was a preposterous amount of money, especially for a simple gold ring that was only that valuable because of its connection to him. He wondered, idly, what his mother would have been able to do with that kind of money. Even after adjusting for inflation, it was a considerable sum.

"You shouldn't have to pay for it at all," Bruce said.

Steve considered his options. He wouldn't ask SHIELD to spend tax-payer dollars on something so selfish -- on something Steve didn't even know still existed twenty-four hours ago. He couldn't.

"I'll visit the auction house," he decided. Maybe someone there would be about to give him some ideas. At the very least, he hoped to see the ring with his own two eyes.

Bruce touched his arm gently and asked, "Want some company?"

*

The man at the auction house was pale with brown hair and he met Steve's gaze with hazel eyes that seemed anything but sincere. 

"I'm sorry, Mr. Rogers, but I can't reveal that information. As I said before, the seller has asked to remain anonymous." His tone was almost bored, and Steve could tell he thought talking to them was a waste of his time. 

"And there's no way we can see the ring before the auction?" Bruce asked at Steve's side.

The auctioneer shook his head. "The ring will be sold on Saturday and will remain in a secure location until then. If you wish to see the ring in person, you are welcome to attend the auction."

Steve realized his hands were in fists. "But it's my mother's ring."

"And you are free to bid on it like everyone else," the auctioneer said. Then for the first time since their conversation began, the auctioneer's expression brightened ever so slightly. "Ah." He riffled through some paperwork and held some pages out to Steve. "Would you, perhaps, be interested in signing a certificate of authenticity?"

Steve slammed his hands down on the man's desk. The auctioneer jumped backwards. Steve opened his mouth to shout, but then felt Bruce's steadying hand on his shoulder.

Steve realized that the auctioneer was sprawled ungracefully in his chair, a certificate crushed and unusable in one hand, and he was staring back at Steve with wide, terrified eyes.

"Let's go," Bruce said, gently guiding him from the room. Steve spared one final glare at the auctioneer and then let himself be led.

The second they were back on the street, Steve felt his anger drain out of him. In its wake, he felt frustration, sadness and disappointment. 

He told himself that he didn't need it. That it was just a trinket. That he would be okay with someone else owning it and keeping it in a safe or display case somewhere. 

He sighed. If there was one thing he had always been horrible at, it was lying to himself. 

* 

Clint chuckled, startling Steve out of his reverie. "Cap, you're the only guy I know who drinks hot cocoa at 3am in July."

Clint came into the kitchen and started rummaging through the fridge. He grabbed a tupperware of left-over pasta salad and a fork, and then easily levied himself onto the kitchen counter with one hand. He began to munch loudly. For a master assassin, he could be surprisingly noisy sometimes.

"So what are you doing up at this hour anyway?" Clint asked between mouthfuls. 

Steve knew that he could ask Clint the same the question.

"Seriously, Cap," Clint said, his mouth full and his words slightly garbled. "You're pouting."

Steve frowned, but decided to tell him what had happened at the auction house.

Clint was finished with the pasta salad by the time Steve was done explaining and Clint threw the tupperware and his fork into the sink across the room without moving from where he was perched.

"What an asshole," Clint declared.

"Yeah," Steve agreed. "Though I understand why they wouldn't let me see it. It technically belongs to someone else right now." The thought of someone else owning the ring hadn't sat well with him when he was fifteen, and it made him even more uncomfortable now.

"Whatever. Just get SHIELD to buy it for you."

"SHIELD is government funded," Steve reminded him.

Clint rolled his eyes. "You saved the world and you're probably owed seventy years of back pay. Buying you a ring is the least they could do."

Steve's disapproval of this idea must've been visible in his expression because Clint said, "If you're dead-set against SHIELD fitting the bill, you could always ask Tony."

"To do what?" Steve asked. "Pay thousands of dollars for something I want?"

Clint laughed. "You do know this is Tony Stark we're talking about, right? Do you have any idea how much money he spends in a month, not counting his Avenger-related expenses? He drops fifty grand on frivolous stuff all the time."

Tony would probably buy it if Steve asked, but the idea of asking Tony didn't sit right with him either. Steve felt it was too big of a request, even to someone as wealthy as Tony. Besides, the ring wasn't just some "frivolous" accessory to "drop" money on. 

"You thinking of going?" Clint asked.

"What?"

"To the auction on Saturday?"

Steve was tempted to go, just to see the ring. "I was thinking about it."

"I don't think that's a good idea," Clint warned. "Do you know how many of your fanboys will be there? You go in there and by the time the day is done, they'll be selling locks of your hair on eBay."

Steve hadn't given any thought to that. It occurred to Steve then that going to the auction would also give credibility to the auction itself, and that was the last thing he wanted to do.

"Alright, new plan." Clint said. "I'll go in tomorrow night and pick it up for you."

Steve had lifted his mug to take another sip of cocoa, but now he lowered it to the table carefully. "No, Clint," he said.

Clint grinned. "You sure? I mean, it wouldn't be too hard to--"

"No, Clint," Steve repeated, louder and more firmly this time.

"Aw, come on. It'd be fun! We can invite Tasha and make a field trip out of it."

"No," Steve said again. 

Clint raised his hands in surrender. "You're the boss. But if you change your mind..." Clint raised his eyebrows suggestively.

Steve huffed in amusement, surprising himself. "I'll keep that in mind." Clint was serious about committing a felony on his behalf, but he was also trying to cheer Steve up in his own way.

Clint hopped off the counter and slapped Steve on the back as he made his way to the door. Over his shoulder, he said, "I still think you should just ask SHIELD to put it on their gold card. They'd jump at the chance to put a ring on your fing--"

"Goodnight, Clint," Steve said, cutting him off.

*

Steve sat down on Friday night and sketched his mother from memory -- her hair in gentle curls, the fine lines that added wisdom to her face. He drew her sitting in the nurses' lounge at the hospital where she worked -- the same hospital that Steve had all too often frequented -- and she had her chin propped in her hand as she laughed at a joke another nurse was telling. He tried to capture the way the late afternoon sun had cast a golden light to the room that seemed the make her face glow.

Many of his memories of his mother were fading, but this one was still crisp and clear in his mind. He remembered that day. It had been his last day of junior high. She had been working long, hard hours and Steve had known that although she barely had time to sleep, she felt guilty about leaving him alone so much. He had met her at work and she bought him candy on the way home to congratulate him.

"Am I interrupting?" Natasha asked. Steve turned from where he was seated on the edge of his bed. Natasha was standing in his doorway with a book in her hand.

He put his sketchbook down on the side table. "Not at all. What's going on?"

Without a word, Natasha crossed the room and took a seat in the armchair by his dresser. She didn't lean back into it like Clint or Bruce did. Instead she sat at the edge of the seat, back straight. She said, "Bruce told me about the auction."

Steve made a noncommittal noise, not sure where she was going with this.

She handed him the book, the same way she handed him mission reports. "I took this out of storage." 

Steve accepted the book. The cover was red, white and blue and the cartoony image of Captain America on it startled a laugh out of him. Steve wondered why Natasha of all people was giving it to him until he read the title: "The Ultimate Guide to Captain America Collectibles". 

"This is a real book?" he asked and a corner of Natasha's mouth quirked upward in amusement. 

"You have a lot of adoring fans," Natasha replied.

The edges of the book were worn, as if the book was well-loved and the pages yellow with time. Steve flipped through it, scanning through the images of trading cards, comic books, lunchboxes and other memorabilia. 

A handful of pages near the back of the book had their corners folded over. There, Steve discovered a checklist of old trading cards. Curiously, there were checkmarks down the side of the page, some childish and messy and written in pencil, others neat and precise, checked off in pen.

Steve tightened his hold on the book. There was only one person he knew of who had collected this particular set of cards. It was suddenly very obvious why SHIELD had such a book in storage and why Natasha had known to look for it.

"You may find it helpful," Natasha said. "They mention the ring on page eighty-three."

Steve glanced at the publishing information instead. The book was published in New York in 1967. Steve examined the worn edges of the book once more. Coulson had owned it for a long time and obviously had cared for it a great deal.

Page eighty-three had a black-and-white image of the ring, and also a short description about how it was discovered by collectors in the early 1960s after it was put up for auction by the woman Steve's mother had sold it to. The book went on to explain why Steve's mother had sold it in the first place and how the ring had come to be regarded as a one of the key origins of heart and spirit of Captain America.

It felt strange to Steve that an item so personal and important to him was being described so openly. The ring and the reasons for its sale were not something Steve was sure he wanted shared.

The following page had a grainy blown-up image of his mother wearing the ring in her nurses uniform, an image Steve realized must have been taken at the hospital. 

He ran his fingers over his mother's image and looked up at Natasha. "Thank you," he told her. 

She nodded and stood. He expected her to leave as quickly as she came -- in his experience, she rarely lingered -- but she motioned towards his open sketchbook. "That's well done," she said.

The compliment caught him off guard. "Uh, thanks."

"Is she your mother?" she asked.

Steve nodded, placing Coulson's book next to him on the bed. He lifted the sketchbook and handed it to her. Steve rarely shared his art with anyone, but Natasha had brought him a gift, and this was the least he could do for her.

She looked through the sketchbook carefully, taking the time to examine each image. Steve gazed up at her face as she considered a sketch of Howard and Peggy looking for a reaction, but even as she turned to a drawing of herself sitting with a cup of tea by the windowsill in the lounge, her expression remained impassive. It was only when she happened upon an unfinished sketch of Clint sticking his tongue out that she rolled her eyes and her lips quirked upwards.

She re-opened the book to the unfinished sketch of his mother and handed the sketchbook back to him. "She was very beautiful," she told him.

"Yeah," Steve agreed. "Inside and out."

*

The issue of whether or not to attend the auction became moot when Dr. Doom attacked the city on Saturday morning. Steve was almost grateful for the Doombot army that kept him too busy to think about mementos or highest bidders.

That didn't stop Steve from dreaming of his mother later that night. In his dream, she sat by his bedside, just has she had done countless times when he was sick, and simply stroked the side of his face with her hand as she stared down at him, eyes fond and bright. Though the dream was peaceful, Steve woke with a start. 

The auction had passed. The ring had been sold.

Steve felt like he was letting her down somehow. Steve rolled over and tried to go back to sleep. 

The memory came to him then of the brave face his mother had put on when he had noticed the ring was missing. He had asked after it and she had told him she'd sold it to the doctor's wife. She had been sitting at his bedside then too, and Steve remembered that she had done her best not to cry, to be brave for him.

*

Bruce and Tony were sitting together at the kitchen table when Steve entered the kitchen in search of breakfast on Tuesday morning. Steve was used to seeing Bruce in the kitchen, but Tony's presence was another matter entirely.

Steve knew from his own sleepless nights that Tony tended to keep strange hours and that he also put off food, social contact and some of his corporate responsibilities in favour of hiding away in his lab with his armour, robots and fancy computers that Steve didn't even pretend to understand. Also, given the work Tony did for his business, which often had him travelling across the country, seeing Tony in their living quarters was something of a rarity.

Their conversation was incomprehensible to Steve, who crossed the kitchen to the fridge. Bruce caught his eye gave him a little wave. Tony continued talking until Steve settled himself at the opposite end of the table with his bowl of cereal.

"Nice pyjamas, Cap. You know, I didn't take you for a Cinnamon Toast Crunch kind of guy. I always figured you'd be more into Wheaties."

Steve blinked at Tony. He had no idea what to say to that.

Bruce cleared his throat and looked like he was trying to keep from smiling. "Maybe you should just tell him."

Steve sat up straighter. "Tell me what?"

Tony shook his head and heaved an exaggerated sigh in Bruce's direction. "You, sir, are no fun when it comes to surprises."

Bruce rolled his eyes. "I'm not a terribly big fan of surprises."

Tony reached into his pocket and then put a small white box on the table. He pushed it towards Steve.

It was a ring box and though he knew it shouldn't be possible, Steve knew what it had to be. 

Shocked, he reached out across the table's glass surface and carefully picked it up. He held it in his hands for a moment before cracking open the lid and finding his mother's ring sparkling up at him.

He felt like he couldn't breathe. He inhaled sharply and when he looked across the table at Tony and Bruce, he found them to be a little blurry.

"How--" Steve started and then realized exactly what must have happened. He looked at Tony to find him staring back. "Why?"

Tony shrugged, as if this act of kindness was not worth questioning and looked over at Bruce.

Bruce was smiling earnestly now. "I told him about your predicament," he admitted. 

The immense relief Steve felt wasn't enough to make him forget why he hadn't just asked Tony to purchase the ring in the first place.

"I'll pay you back," Steve said.

Tony laughed. "It's a gift. You do know what a gift is, right?"

The very opposite of a debt to be repaid, Steve thought. Not something Tony did because Steve had asked him to, but something Tony did all on his own because Tony himself had wanted to. 

"I do," Steve replied softly, turning his attention back to the ring. The details on the gold band were exactly how he remembered them and it struck Steve that the ring looked different somehow without his mother's thin hands accompanying it.

His own hands felt overly large when he finally pulled the ring from the box and turned it so he could examine it from another angle. There, on the inside of it, were two small imperfections that together with a little imagination represented everything he missed about his childhood.

"Thank you," Steve said. "Both of you." It took him a moment to realize the words had come out like a whisper.

He was still holding the ring in his too-big hands, his breakfast long forgotten, when Tony said, "One more thing."

Tony fished another box out of his pocket and set it on the table between them. Steve gaped at it. He honestly had no idea what it could be. Steve slid his mother's ring onto the tip of his pinky finger before reaching for it.

This box was carved from wood and when Steve lifted the lid, he discovered a gold chain inside. He lifted it into the air, curious.

"In case you want to wear it," Tony explained. Steve realized Tony was talking about his mother's ring, and smiled. After all, he hadn't wanted it to go back into some box. It was a very thoughtful gift, but Steve knew he couldn't accept it. Tony had already spent too much on jewellery for him.

As if reading his mind, Tony said, "It's another gift, and besides, he'd want you to have it." 

Steve almost dropped the necklace. It was Howard's.

Steve lay the necklace down in the box and slid it back across the table towards Tony. "You should keep this." 

Tony caught the other side of the box and pushed it back towards Steve. "My dad had a lot of jewellery. I'll never wear half of it anyway. Take it. He'd be happy to know it was getting some use."

Steve stared down at the ring and then at the necklace Tony was so graciously offering him. He lifted the chain from its box once more, and this time unhooked the clasp and threaded the ring onto it. He settled the necklace around his neck and let the gold band fall against his chest.

"It's a good look on you," Bruce said, smiling.

"You look very handsome," Tony agreed. He sounded slightly flippant, but Steve knew that Tony spoke like that sometimes to avoid confronting his emotions. 

"Thank you," Steve said again, feeling awed, and Tony grinned. 

"Anytime, Cap."

*

Steve retreated back to his room. He reached up and clasped his hand around the ring, holding it tight. He felt overwhelmed not only by the ring but also by the warm weight of the chain around his neck. He took a deep shaky breath. 

Steve crossed the room and opened the top drawer of his dresser. He took out a small ink pot and a thin paintbrush. He held the ring reverently between two fingers and did what no other person on Earth would think to do: he traced the outline of a heart onto its interior.

He blinked the tears from his eyes and imagined his mother standing before him. In his mind's eye, she glowed in the sunlight like she had in the nurses' lounge all those years ago. She smiled at him fondly and he could feel her enduring love for him as she stretched up onto her tip-toes and placed a grateful kiss against his forehead.


End file.
